Truth in Anger
by Agnes Robinson
Summary: Set after the garage scene in episode 2.04. It is for all you Branson/Sybil lovers out there. Just a slight different take on the aftermath of their argument.


Truth in Anger

It was hot, unusually hot for a Yorkshire summer. All week it had been raining. Yesterday the sun had come out and now they were having a heat wave. Sybil rolled out of bed. Her night cloths were stuck to her and she moved to the window to open it wider in an attempt to catch an errant summer breeze.

It wasn't just the heat that was keeping her awake. Since her argument with Tom, his words had been echoing in her head whenever she had a quiet moment. During the days she was busy, but in quiet moments like now she could hear his words. "What work? Serving drinks to a bunch of randy officers." His words had hurt her. She had worked so hard to become a nurse and to gain the acceptance of her coworkers. She expected her father to make disparaging remarks about "work". That was his culture, his generation, but Tom and all his talk about socialism and equality of the sexes. It had made her blood boil with anger. Tom had sought her out a few days later to apologize but the words still stung. Sybil had not fully forgiven him.

Now two weeks after their argument she was looking at her current situation in a different light. She had felt so fulfilled at the hospital working with the newly arrived injured when she first returned from training. Once Downton had become a convalescent hospital she had been reassigned. To be honest she was not as happy with the situation. She still changed dressings and dispensed medications, but the majority of her days were spent changing sheets and yes, if truth be told, serving hot drinks.

This afternoon had been particularly trying. While checking the dressing on one officer's arm he had reached around her and cupped her rear end. At the same time whispering a request for a private sponge bath after lights out in her ear. She had quickly stepped back and told him if he persisted with his unwelcome attentions she would report him to the matron.

It wasn't only the attempts to touch her in an inappropriate manner or the invitations for a variety of clandestine rendezvous that were bothering her. While double checking the afternoons medication tray against the roster, Sybil had overheard three of the officers discussing which of the nurses they preferred complete with details of what they would like to do with them in the privacy of an upstairs bedroom. She didn't fully understand everything they described, but those fateful words had come back to haunt her in those moments.

"Randy officers indeed," she muttered under her breath.

Sybil had a new appreciation of the attitudes of her family and their friends towards the staff that she had grown up with. Many of the officers staying at Downton were of the same class as her family. They treated the nurses, the maids and the other people there to care for them as just part of the furniture or as they would a lamp. There was no consideration of words or actions and how they would affect others. So many of the conversations on class divide and inequality with Tom now came back to her. He had often cut short his opinions on the aristocracy and the rampant inconsideration and degradation of those they felt lower than themselves. Everything he had said and tactfully avoided was correct. Her job had become serving drinks to randy officers and she was disgusted by it.

Sybil glanced at the small clock beside her bed. It read one am. She needed to get out of her room, out of the oppressive heat that filled it and away from her gilded cage for just a little while. She would go down to the garden for a short walk and get some air. She walked to the wardrobe and reached for an old tea dress that had been her favorite from before the war. It was light and airy. She shed her nightgown and pulled on the dress over her naked body. She had lost weight and the dress fitted her well without the restrictive undergarments. She doubted anyone would be out on the grounds at this time of night. She let herself out through the front doors. They were never locked now the Abbey was used a convalescent hospital as the nurses came and left for their shifts at all hours of the day.

Sybil reached the gardens and headed across the lawn towards the garage. She had seen a sliver of light coming from the general area when she was in her room. Perhaps Tom, (she called him that in her mind now, never Branson) was still awake in this heat as she was.

When Sybil reached the garage she realized it was in darkness. She could see a faint light and hear the unmistakable sound of metal clinking and someone moving around behind the garage. Sybil took the path that lead around the side of the building and came to a sudden halt just behind a few trees. Sybil had opened her mouth to call his name, but the scene before her caused her to close her mouth slowly without a sound.

A shaft of light from the slightly ajar door to the chauffeur's cottage illuminated the area with a faint light. Tom stood on a small platform of rough planks. In front of him was a small table with a washbasin and bucket. The light illuminated his naked body as he washed himself. His fair skin glowed in the light. The trail of water and soap as it coursed down his body glistened and defined the play of muscles as he moved.

Sybil new she was intruding on a highly personal moment, but her feet refused to move. This reality was beyond anything in her dreams. She had seen many naked men in her nursing duties. Washed them and attended to their personal functions when they were too ill to help themselves, but this was beyond anything in her experience. Tom was not only handsome, he was beautiful. There was not a spare ounce of flesh on his body. The muscles of his arms, chest and abdomen were defined and moved in perfect harmony. He was not as tall as her father or Mathew, but his body was perfectly proportioned and in the low light gleamed like a marble statue that had come to life.

Desire ripped through her. Raw and uncontrolled and more powerful than anything she had ever felt before. Her nipples and breasts contracted, a spasm shot through her abdomen and caused moistness between her legs that was part pleasure and part anguish. Her reaction was primal, as old as Adam and Eve, pulling her towards her mate. Sybil reached out and grasped the trunk of the tree in front of her. Her nails dug into the bark. She knew if she let go her resolve now, there would be no turning back. She would never get enough of Tom. The story of Mary and Mr. Pamuk and their single night of passion or lust or whatever it was would be nothing compared to this.

Tom always smelled so well like Tom. His scent was one of shaving cream, soap and pomade with a little of his own unique aroma thrown in. He never smelled of sweat or the lack of personal hygiene that she had come to expect from the other servants. Sybil had not given much consideration to the facilities available to others on the estate. Her father had hot running water installed to the family and guest washrooms a few years back, but what of the servants. Heating the water and carrying it to the attics would not be a welcome activity on a daily basis. She thought of her own regime on return from the hospital each day and how she enjoyed a leisurely bath with the convenience of just turning a knob.

Tom had almost finished with his washing up. He grabbed the bucket and dumped the remaining water over his head cooling himself in the oppressive summer heat. He had almost an obsessive desire to wash himself everyday despite the effort of heating the water on his small stove. He wanted so badly to make something of himself, to rise above his humble beginnings. He had realized very quickly when he first went into service that one of the subtle things that separated servants and the working poor from the wealthy was cleanliness. He had to endure racial slurs everywhere he turned since he had come to England. "Irish pig," was an insult thrown at him regularly by field hands and shopkeepers alike. The ignorant bastards could call him a pig but there was no way he would ever smell like one.

In truth he was often a little lonely. John Bates was the only one of the staff that would ever stop by when he was working outside or deliberately seek him out to chat despite their differences in political opinions. But since his return John was occupied with his own inner demons and was often taciturn and more distant than he had been before. The other servants thought Tom's obsession with books was more than a bit peculiar. Even with a higher position of chauffer he was still second-class in most of their eyes and while polite enough to his face or presence in the dining hall, they never sought out his company. Since his lordship had a telephone line installed between the house and garage even the hall boys didn't come down to deliver messages. He had a few friends in England but they were spread between towns. He only got to see them when his employers were attending meetings or paying calls and didn't need his services for a few hours. Sybil was the only one who ever sough him out and valued his opinion.

He sighed as he threw away the rest of the wash water and began to dry himself. He had insulted her work and even with his apology he sensed he had pushed too far.

Tom sensed he was being watched and quickly looked up. "Is someone there?" he said into the darkness. When no reply came, he shrugged. "Probably a deer," he muttered under his breath as he entered his cottage, closed the door and turned out the lights.

Sybil held her breath. Her could feel the red rushing up her face. If he had caught her standing there dumb struck she would have never been able to look him in the eyes again. She waited there in the dark until his cottage was in darkness before she moved. Her reason for seeking him out now obliterated from her mind.

As she walked across the grass towards the light of the main entrance her thoughts slipped out of her mouth to be carried away in the humid evening air. "Tom Branson you are the most infuriating, opinionated, beautiful man and I love you with all that I am."


End file.
